Who would have thought it, huh?

… That I’d be here posting this, but here I am.

Not so long ago, 10 weeks in fact, I was the happiest fun loving person full of jokes. Life was great. Then life turned on me. One traumatic incident turned my life to hell. I won’t say what the trauma was but I will tell of its magnitude. I went through a trauma so great, so overwhelming that I literally blacked out. The next thing I know, I wake up in a hospital bed with a broken body. I was told it was self inflicted having thrown myself from three storeys, which clearly sent shockwaves to those around me.

Having done something like that to myself psychiatrists came and two weeks later I was sectioned to a mental ward and put on suicide watch, even though I was crippled with only one functioning arm. Mistreatment and neglect soon followed, the ward was not a good place. Given my physical condition my healthcare plan provided by the hospital was repeatedly ignored by ward staff. My injuries were not being checked up as they should compounded by the mental trauma I was still coming to terms with meant I was doing poorly. Very poorly. It especially doesn’t help that I have police, social services and psychiatrists all buzzing around me ticking their boxes to whatever I say and do. I was pretty much just dumped there.

I was eventually discharged, glad to turn my back on the place and headed home. It’s good to be with family and I was just relieved, but the relief was short lived and I quickly spiralled into depression. “Despair” would be more accurate.

My mornings always start the same. The trauma hits me hard, all the remorse, fear, anxiety, grief… And despair. They hit me so hard and they hit harder everyday. My entire body jolts from the impact and the effect is paralysing, it lingers throughout the whole day. I don’t do anything. It takes all my effort to get out of bed just to eat, empty myself or wash (sometimes I don’t even do that). Distractions don’t distract me anymore and once I do whatever is necessary I always retreat back to bed.

I’m always tired and I never sleep well. I go to sleep tired and I wake up tired, and the wake ups always come with the trauma hits. I go to sleep to a bad dream and I wake up to a living nightmare. It’s draining me, it really is.

I look at my past self and compare it to now. There’s almost nothing left of me. The cheerful disposition, the sparkling wit, the unbashful banter… They’re all gone.the trauma took hold of my consciousness and the old me sought to be rid of it. The day I fell was the day my old self died, leaving behind a broken vessel.

Only a tiny fragment remains. A tiny fragment inside a husk. A husk that is filled with despair. The fragment mourns the loss of the past self and has to shoulder the suffocating burden that is now its life.

The injuries are healing and I have to attend a daycare unit butI do not feel like I am living anymore, just leading an agonising existence. A question I find myself asking is, “what’s the point?”

10 weeks. 10 weeks ago I never would have thought my life would come to this. I never would have thought I’d wish to sleep an endless sleep, to dream an endless dream. But I do now. I honestly wouldn’t care if a truck ploughs into me tomorrow or something. I look to the past and I see the happy times… And feel the remorse of losing them. I look to the future and see nothing but futility and hopelessness. And I’m stuck in the middle.

When life deals me such a shitty hand I’m so tempted to just fold and walk away.